Puzzles
by falsechaos
Summary: [ch 6, shounen-ai] Fade. Khemet. Fate. The king of games meets a mysterious stranger.
1. Wall of Illusion

"Wall of Illusion"  
  
[Fiend / Effect] The monster attacking this creature is returned to its owner's hand. Any damage resulting from the attack is calculated normally.  
  
=====  
  
It is dark in the tiny room. I'm the only one in here, resting my head upon my knees. I brush an errant spike of hair away from my face. Wait. Wine-colored eyes gaze with a lazy intensity at the door. They will be coming soon. Wait.  
  
A rattle at the door.  
  
I tense.  
  
Wait. Wait.  
  
It is such a *heavy* door. It always takes them so long to unlock, to open.  
  
Wait...  
  
The door cracks open, a cautious sliver of light spilling into the room. If the door was slow, light is even slower when it comes into this room.  
  
I surge to my feet. I pin myself against the wall, behind the door. It swings open, ponderous and heavy. My face flushes with suppressed anger. Despite my warnings, the guard insists on going through this ritual every day. Very well. I will complete my *own* portion of the ritual.  
  
"Motou? You in here?" Such casual, mocking words. I hear a sigh, the faint rustle of a hand running through hair. "I'm getting tired of this, pal. I'm only doing my job. Why don't you just come out and take your--" The voice trails off, the invader walking deeper into the small room to find its occupant.  
  
No, guard. Not today. I dash away from my hiding place, dart away from the guard bearing his strange apothecary of poisons. I hear the guard squeak out a startled yelp and see the tray and its poisons shatter against the floor. I run out of the room and past the startled, raven-haired invader.  
  
I skid to a halt, looking about myself wildly. So many other chambers... So many locked doors... The hallway is so long... Where to go? Quickly! That way! My bare feet slap against the worn tile of the floor. So cold out here. These paper-thin garments provide no protection against this cold, barely any protection for my modesty. I turn a corner, almost crash into a wall, but keep running. They will find me, they will catch me, but I will make them pay in every way possible.  
  
Footsteps behind me. A pursuer.  
  
"Damn it, Motou!"  
  
Damn it, guard. This gets tiring.  
  
So many twists and turns about this place. So many ways to go, so many traps that must be avoided. A door! An open door! Here, it is almost a miracle. What strength and energy I hold in reserve must now called into play, all for this last mad sprint towards... towards whatever lies beyond that miraculous open door.  
  
"Hey, you, Wheeler! Stop him!"  
  
From out of nowhere, a hand reaches out and grabs me. Everything pauses for a few startled moments. I spin around and stare into wide amber eyes. Shaggy blond hair frames a young face. Such beautiful eyes, sunlight pouring through a jar of honey. I'm falling, but why so slowly? Strong hands grasp my shoulders and support my slight weight. I have to look up to stare into those amber eyes.  
  
Time resumes its passage with the screeching of the guard's voice. I tear away from this stranger and continue this desperate escape. Before, it was merely a practice in frustration for both me and the guard. But now... Now there is a chance... Slim, almost nonexistent, as fragile as a pixie's wings, but *real...*  
  
More hallways, more locked doors.  
  
It is almost enough to make me fall to my knees and weep.  
  
Almost.  
  
I turn, lean my weight forward, am so ready, so close to running....  
  
I'm grabbed again. Roughly this time. I whirl around, jab stiff fingers into the guard's solar plexus, hear the other gasp, watch him fall to his knees. Other hands, other footsteps echo in the halls and between my ears. I try not to cry out, not to waste any unnecessary moves that could be used later, but I start to struggle, to twist about in their multi-armed grasp. They cling to me like some terrible kraken with a thousand hands, each pulling rudely at my arms and legs, pinning me to the ground, crushing the breath from my body, pressing my face to the cold pale floor can't breathe let go let go unhand me  
  
"Unhand me!" I scream voice ripping from my throat something sharp piercing my skin my mind where am I why are they doing  
  
"Hey, let him go!"  
  
this too late too late can't stop darkness from creeping rushing into eyes mouth ears, getting raped by this darkness, forced from me into me but  
  
"You okay?" that voice "What did you guys do to him?" amber eyes   
  
that voice follows me  
  
into  
  
the dark  
  
=====  
  
"Damn it, Joey! What were you thinking? Or are you even capable of the simpler functions commonly associated with the higher order of primates?"  
  
Joseph Wheeler stands with his hands shoved in his pockets. His jaw is set in a firm line and he looks away to keep from glaring. A rude hand grabs his chin. He stares into the livid face of Dr. Solomon. The older man has to step on his balls of his feet to stare Joey in the eyes, but the doc manages it quiet well. Solomon narrows his eyes and steps back.  
  
"I'm familiar with your story. Your sister volunteers quite a bit in this ward with some of the younger patients. I honestly can't see how the two of you are related. How someone *that* intelligent could claim someone like you for..."  
  
Joey turns away from the rants of the diminutive doctor. One of his rare vacations from work and he went to visit his sister. Okay from that point. Had come to hospital, got lost for like the millionth time, and ran into... Well that's the kicker, isn't it? Who and what exactly *had* he run into? Some weird kid running pellmell away from some creepy guy. Okay, had run into weird kid. Weird kid with the *really* intense look.  
  
Again, such a weird kid! Short and slender, the top of his head (not including the spikes of hair) barely reached Joey's shoulder. And that hair... Wild spikes of raven's wing and cardinal's crest flaring back and away from his face, canary yellow bangs lacing through the black and red spikes and framing his narrowed wine-colored eyes. (A feather duster must have exploded on his head.) His face had been dominated by those wine-colored eyes. Fierce and desperate and violently denying the fear that also swam in those depths. He hadn't *looked* crazy.  
  
So Joey had let go of him. And ran to pull off the four or so burly male nurses that forced the weird kid to the floor. And had generally put up a very nice stink when they drug him off and took the weird kid away.  
  
"...dangerous to himself and other people. Not to mention..."  
  
Damn. Solomon's still speaking. Can't really pay attention, so might as well fake it.  
  
"Are you listening, Joseph!?"  
  
Eh, heh, need to practice that "faking it" part a bit more.  
  
Joey crosses his arms across his chest and glares down at the small doctor glaring up. "What's the big deal? So some kid gets out of his padded room and your cronies have to rough him up? If that's how things work, maybe Serenity shouldn't be volunteering here that often."  
  
Solomon valiantly suppresses a growl. He shoves his spectacles back to their proper perch on the bridge of his nose. Takes a deep breath. Holds. Releases. Still pissed, but better able to deal with it now. "Yuugi Motou is a very disturbed young man. He is schizophrenic with possible multiple personalities. He suffers catatonic periods at times. In order to make any progress with his treatment, he *must* remain on his medicines and--"  
  
"Woah, woah, doc. Small words, please. Preferably with less than a dozen syllables."  
  
"Yuugi Motou is very sick. His version of reality is very different from your's and mine and could easily get him killed outside of this hospital. Young Motou is one of those rare people who doesn't come across as mentally ill to most people. That makes him dangerous to himself and other people. Not intentionally. I don't think he'd do anything to hurt anyone who honestly didn't deserve it. It's just..."  
  
"What? So he thinks he's Napoleon. Big deal." Joey backed away from Dr. Solomon. He nudged the bag of books next to his feet without noticing he was doing so. Oh. Gotta get those to sis. She'll like the Braille. "No reason to gang up on him."  
  
"Actually, Mr. Wheeler, he thinks that he's an ancient Egyptian pharaoh possessing the body of Yuugi Motou. He insists that Yuugi is dead. And that despite having the same appearance, blood type, and DNA of Yuugi Motou, he is *not* Yuugi Motou."  
  
"Oh."   
  
"Put your foot any further in your mouth, Joseph, and you'll need a partial enema to trim your toenails."  
  
=====  
  
Dark. Dark in the room. Dark in my mind. How many people gripe about the *lack* of voices in their head? My fault Yuugi died. But... Dr. Solomon told me that *I* was Yuugi Motou. Solomon is wise man, can even be trusted to some small extent... But how far can I trust a man who's tried to heal me, but keeps me prisoner? What sort of trust? How many mountains of salt?  
  
My fault Yuugi is dead.  
  
But... maybe *I* am Yuugi.  
  
My own fault I'm dead?  
  
Who's the crazy one when the extra voice in your head becomes the only voice period? When the figment of the mind is the only mind left? I was supposed to be the figment of Yuugi's mind. I was supposed to protect the little one. That's why I'm here, right? I must atone. I can't remember how I failed him... Only this terrible emptiness. So now the voice in the darkness has become the only voice at all in this fragile body.  
  
Sanity sucks. 


	2. Share the Pain

"Share the Pain"  
  
[ Magic ] Offer 1 monster on your side of the field as a Tribute. Your opponent must select 1 monster on his/her side of the field and offer it as a Tribute.  
  
=====  
  
"I really don't want to be here."  
  
"I'd gathered as much from your little escape attempt yesterday."  
  
Why is she showing off her legs like that? Crossed, then uncrossed. Leaning closer to me. Trying to foster a sense of intimacy, Dr. Valentine? Bonus points for the attempt, but I'm afraid you'll have to face a penalty for poor execution.  
  
"Tell me, Yuugi, why do you think you're here?"  
  
"Perhaps because I keep insisting that Yuugi is dead."  
  
She sighs and leans back. Valentine reaches with a slender hand to tuck an errant strand of blond hair behind her ears. She crosses her legs again. High heels, deep purple miniskirt, and tight, matching blazer. Hardly appropriate attire for a psychiatrist supposedly in charge of group therapy, eh, Dr. Valentine? Not as though any of the others are going to complain.  
  
"Stupid pharaoh. Can't even escape a mental ward properly."  
  
"Stupid tomb robber. At least I wasn't committed by a voice in my head telling me to do *nice* things."  
  
"Aren't you the one telling us that *you* are the voice in your particular head?"  
  
Ryou really isn't worth arguing with. It is my greater maturity that prevents me from responding. It has nothing to at all to do with the fact that I can't think of a proper retort. That's it, of course. Maturity. Three thousand years will grant you that.  
  
We all sit in a semicircle facing one another. Five of us here, including myself. Joy.  
  
Ryou Bakura, self-committed and denying every moment of it. Boasts about digging up graves and hocking any valuables. Hence the nickname 'tomb robber.' Ryou was found standing over one of his roommates with a very sharp knife and debating with himself quite loudly about whether or not to kill the other boy. In two distinct voices, I feel compelled to add. He committed himself soon after. I think that's the part that has him angry. He's managed to escape (as in leave the building, not just his own personal chamber) roughly twelve times. Caught and brought back every time.  
  
The others... I can't remember the others. It's difficult at times to remember just where I am. Inside my chamber, locked away in the puzzling maze of doors and hallways, I am aware of every passing moment, every second that crawls into a corner and dies. My chamber reeks of dead time. But out here... Time flows strangely out here. I am taken from my chamber for minutes or hours or days. Doesn't matter. It should, I think.  
  
Ryou, as much as I loathe the tomb robber, is the only one distinct enough to claim my attention. He mocks everyone, everything, including himself. The sight of blood is enough to send the boy into one startled moment of silence. That silence is what truly infuriates me. He waits for the next moment. The next drop of crimson to splash against the floor. He watches. He'll never make any attempt to stop the source, to alleviate pain. He'll just... watch.  
  
The one with amber eyes... He did not stand by and watch. He tried to help me. Such vital eyes. I wouldn't mind  
  
"Motou!"  
  
"Dr. Valentine."  
  
"You weren't paying attention, Yuugi."  
  
"I believe you were saying something about Ryou's violent antisocial tendencies?"  
  
Her red lips stretch into a thin line. Ah, I guessed correctly, didn't I, Doctor? She nods sharply and turns back to Ryou. Always a good guess that the topic is violent antisocial tendencies when Ryou is in group. The two look so strange together. Dominant, beautiful young women. Sullen, glowering pale fiend. Their children would spell the end of civilization as we know it. The sad thing is that the tomb robber actually responds to her forceful ways and the good doctor seems intrigued by Ryou's violent twists of compassion and contempt.  
  
I think I'll miss civilization as I knew it.  
  
Someone taps my shoulder. I jerk away and stare up at one of the ubiquitous guards this maze is infested with. "Playtime's over, Motou." A kindly face and tone. *Not* the one I jabbed in the solar plexus, then. I rise from my seat. Everyone else is gone by now. Valentine waits by the door impatiently. I'll follow the guard for now.  
  
Twisted hallways. Sharp corners. Every day (every week? month? year?) I follow this maze. I return to the same room, but the path is different every time I walk it. Why? I want to escape this prison. I want to remember. But first I must solve this massive puzzle in which I dwell. I don't want to go into my chamber. It is the only place I can string together coherent thought, the only place I feel remotely whole... But the loss of light is... is...  
  
That voice.  
  
*His* voice.  
  
So like Yuugi's voice. Deeper in tone and timber, a subtle distinction in the shivers that race down my spine, but so like Yuugi's voice. That same vital heat and warmth. The only other one to show me untainted kindness since Yuugi... since he...  
  
...since Yuugi died.  
  
Back into that damned chamber again. The door swings shut and locks behind me. The guard waves cheerily and walks away. I think I'd like to kill him. Too damn cheerful for this place. Violent antisocial tendencies. Hnmph. I walk up to the door. Peer out the tiny window. It's laced through with wire. Couldn't have me busting it out and cutting my wrists with a sliver of glass, now could we?  
  
I deserve this.  
  
I *did* let him die, after all.  
  
Let... myself... die..?  
  
Damn Solomon. I don't need this! I need... I need light. I need to solve the puzzle, put together the pieces, make it make sense. It wasn't always like this. There were others... My mother, my father. Mother was so dark and mysterious, eyes lined in kohl, elaborate headdress crowning her as queen, always aloof and distant. But... she also baked chocolate chip cookies. And hamburgers. And sat by my bedside when I was ill. My father owned a game shop and studied ancient cultures in his free time. He also ruled an entire nation.  
  
I think I may have scrambled a few pieces of memory in my hurry to put them together. There seem to be a few discrepancies. There are others...  
  
Sitting with half-lidded eyes in sterile classrooms filled with dry, recycled air. But why the conflicting memory of angry tutors scolding me for playing in the temples? Talking, laughing, playing games with my father. Sitting ramrod straight, eyes straight ahead, listening to my father discuss matters of state. Helping my mother prepare dinner, just the two of us. Watching my mother at a distance, not daring to approach while she was surrounded by servants.  
  
Discrepancies like...  
  
Walking though a newly built temple, listening to the distant murmur of people outside cheering the completion of the structure. Feeling the hot desert wind caress my face. It is so vast inside! A smile crosses my face. This is truly a worthy monument to the gods! A strange noise in the corner. Someone is staring at me. (when did I go from remembering to reliving?) A scuffle of sandal somehow heard above the crowd outside. He rushes me, knife in clenched fist above his head. I can hear the startled yelling of the Imperial Guards. Why can't I move? I don't care if he is my trusted friend, move! Move! But I can't. (not in memory, at least) The knife glides through my flesh and I'm  
  
Walking through an ancient temple, listening to the distant murmur of volunteers removing debris from the structure. Feeling the hot desert wind caress my face. It's so big in here! A smile crosses my face. Yuugi's parents kneel before a monument to the gods, fascinated by the inscriptions at its base. It stares down at them. A groan of loosening stone can't be heard above the crowd outside. The statue crashes down toward them, Osiris with arms outstretched to gather them in a deadly embrace. I can't hear my own shrieking cries. Why won't they move? I don't care if they can't hear me, can't hear the statue falling, move! Move! But they don't. Osiris gathers them in his arms and  
  
"Stop!!" My own voice once more, shrieking in the darkness again.  
  
This is why I prefer the corner.  
  
Arms around my legs. Head on my knees. Wine-colored eyes staring off into the distance. I can't remember what happens next. If I died in ancient Egypt or if my parents died in a forgotten tomb while I watched. I think... I think they died. I cried for so long after my parents died. Wait. I think those were Yuugi's parents. I wasn't there when they died. Yuugi was. His parents died and Yuugi needed me and so I... I joined him. Protected him.  
  
But how can I remember seeing his parents die? I wasn't there. I was... in the shadows... somewhere... Yuugi had curled around his parents, held his mother's bloodied hand... praying for something... someone... He had lain there for hours before someone came. He was so young. Only ten. I had to come. Had to protect him from being alone.  
  
Odd. His eyes had been violet before I came to him. Violet before turning the color of the aged blood of grapes. No one commented on it. No one had said anything to that effect when they pulled him away from his parents. No one noticed me behind the boy's eyes. They did notice when I took over for him at times. Surprise, surprise. Little Yuugi's grown a spine. I tried not to be forceful about it. When Yuugi needed me, needed help, I would walk in his skin, speak in his voice. I wouldn't let anyone harm him.  
  
But now...  
  
Now Yuugi's gone.  
  
It's so quiet in here. I think... I think there are two mazes, two puzzles. One exists outside this chamber. I must solve it if I am to leave this maze. The most difficult puzzle lies within myself. I must solve *that* above all else if I am ever to leave this chamber. One at a time.  
  
Puzzle within, puzzle without.  
  
One at a time. 


	3. Shadow of Eyes

"Shadow of Eyes"  
  
[ Trap ] When your opponent Sets a Monster Card in face-down Defense Position, change it to face-up Attack Position. If the Monster Card has a Flip Effect, it is not activated.  
  
=====  
  
I hate taking my medication. I know, I know, it keeps me calm, suppresses that hateful voice in the back of my head, prevents me from hurting myself, prevents me from hurting others, etc, etc, ad nauseum. It means I'm weak. It means I wasn't able to conquer the flaws within me.  
  
Dr. Valentine doesn't think so.  
  
Dr. Valentine doesn't think on a lot of things.  
  
My violent antisocial tendencies for one.  
  
Dr. Valentine thinks its merely an overstated cry for help and attention. If I wanted help, I'd mention that dead cat I stuffed under the couch at home before coming here. If I wanted attention, I'd tell her (honestly) what I'm thinking right now. I don't think Valentine would like that very much.  
  
I think I want to kill her. No real reason at all. Of all the people here, she is the least offensive. There are other people I could injure without fear of punishment. People I could watch injure themselves for me. The cutters are always fun to play with. I wonder if Dr. Valentine is a cutter. She always wears those blazers with long sleeves. Today's blazer is a violent royal purple. And today's matching skirt is exactly six inches from her crotch.  
  
I'm very good at visual measurements.  
  
The blazer is open, revealing a tight, button-up shirt. She has very large breasts. Curious. I don't want to see those. I want to see her wrists. I want to see if she cuts herself. I want to watch her cut herself. I don't think of her as sexual. I think of her as something that can bleed.  
  
"Is there something you'd like to share, Ryou?"  
  
I blink at her. She was supposed to be busy talking to the damn pharaoh. Violet eyes flick towards my wrist. I follow the rude gaze. Heh. I was rubbing my wrist again. I smile lazily at her. It's a wide, slow grin that exposes my teeth. I've practiced this grin. "Why, no, Dr. Valentine, nothing at all."  
  
"Are you sure?" Her voice is low and reassuring. She's practiced this voice, I'm certain.  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Whenever you're ready, we're here to listen." I know she doesn't mean that. She knows she doesn't mean that. We both know that neither of us cares. She turns back to the pharaoh.  
  
I continue to rub at my wrist.  
  
Nothing special about this left wrist. No bulging scars or glaring discolorations of my skin. Just a faint purple blush along each side of the vein. Just six paperthin indentations. I never said I wasn't a cutter. I just enjoy it more in other people.  
  
The first time I scarred myself was after an argument with my mother. I can't remember what we fought about or how long. I know I was punished, but not nearly as severely as my behavior *should* have been punished. I can't even remember just how my father managed to work a ceasefire between me and my mother. But I can remember thinking, 'I shouldn't hate my mother. That's very wrong of me.'  
  
I was talking with my father. He had come home from work and found it in a state of... hn... 'disorder,' I suppose you can call it. He talked to mother. Can't remember, can't care less. He came upstairs to talk to me. Talk at me, more like. I had to do something with my hands. So I scratched. He told me to talked. I told him that I was afraid I hated my mother. At the time, I really *was* afraid that I hated my mother.  
  
It's seems to be the sort of thing you would just *know,* right?  
  
Apparently, worrying if you hate someone when you really don't want to hate them actually means that you don't really hate them at all. At least, that's what Dad said.  
  
Perhaps I should mention that dear mother wasn't quite ripe in the noggin either? Abused as a child, a teenage, a young adult. It was no wonder she heard voices in her own head. She heard the voices of people who had hurt her. We talked about such things when I was younger. Between arguments. She would tell me that she heard voices, that sometimes she thought of killing herself. I couldn't have been more that twelve when she told me this.  
  
She had to take medication for this.   
  
It's no wonder I hate taking my own.  
  
The other set of scars on my wrist, the paperthin indentations, I gave myself after mother decided that almost twenty years of marriage didn't mean much. She left, and took the only picture of Amane with her. I never knew my little sister. She died as an infant when I was too young to even understand the concept of death. No loss there.  
  
Mother asked me if I wanted to go with her. Of course I couldn't. She looked at me and asked, "Who do you want to stay with?" A choice between her and my father. A choice between fighting with her or peace with my father. Touch choice. But why did it hurt so much to make?  
  
It was the only time I had ever seen my father cry.  
  
I cut myself that night. Nothing fancy, no attempt to end it all, I just sat on the floor in my bedroom and took my tool of choice out of my nailkit. A cuticle trimmer. Even a psychopath deserves nice nails. I didn't want to die. I just wanted to feel something. And I did. Six somethings. I licked the blood away. To be honest, I didn't even expect them to scar. I made certain the scratches were shallow.  
  
I told them the cat did it.  
  
They didn't believe me. I knew. They knew I knew. I didn't care.  
  
Why all of this obsession over a woman who's been dead for two years? I don't know. The funeral was quick. She was buried next to Amane. I didn't see my father cry. That doesn't mean that he didn't. I didn't. I couldn't. I wonder if she ever heard my voice in her mind...  
  
I think that's when it started.  
  
When I started to hear that damn voice.  
  
A faint whisper in the back of my mind. 'It's okay. You can cry. No one will hurt for showing your pain...' I hate that voice. Quiet, insistent in its own polite way. Telling me that it was okay to hurt and be weak and need help. That not everyone wanted to hurt me, that not everyone would betray me, that I was worthy of being loved.  
  
Is it any wonder?  
  
I can't feel things like other people. I knew that. I knew that I shouldn't be hearing things (alright, just *one* thing, but that's still one too many) in my head. So I didn't tell anyone. I went about my merry business, graduated high school, and entered a local community college. Father left for Egypt, finally getting the grant necessary from the museum he worked at. I moved out of the empty apartment we had shared after mother left us. I found another apartment with roommates to help share the cost of utilities and the like. One part time job was enough. I starting failing classes after the first two semesters, but that was okay.  
  
It was a mess, but it was *my* mess. It's okay to wallow in your own emotional filth, isn't it? My life was crumbling comfortably around my ears. I had no real friends, an unhealthy obsession with my own blood, unresolved issues with my dead mother, an uncertain future, but who cared? I didn't. My father didn't know and thus, didn't care. My roommates certainly didn't.  
  
The voice in my head did. 'It's possible to do this, to write the reports, to pass this class. I can do this.' I hate that voice. I hate the control it takes from me, the blanks spots in my mind, the time missing from my life. Most of all, I hate when it starts talking back to me. This wasn't a disassociated conscience I was dealing (not dealing, whatever) with. It thought, it reasoned, it did laundry.  
  
I had scraped my knee while carrying in groceries. It was my turn to get them. I had to juggle the brown bags in one arm while fishing for the keys to the door with my other. I dropped the bags and lunged after them. Not that I cared about Takato's rice, but *my* steaks were in there. The groceries were picked up and carried in, the steaks put in the fridge, the rest left to rot until someone else put them up. I had noticed I was bleeding. Must have done it one the concrete outside.  
  
So I licked it clean. I *like* the taste of my blood. The tiny bits of gravel were annoying, though. I had nipped off a sliver of torn flesh when it happened. A subtle graying of my thoughts. A dim echo in the back of my head. I passed into the darkness with drops of crimson clinging to my lips.  
  
I had woken up in the laundry room. Not really. Really. I heard Takato's surprised exclamation of "Duuude!" and was startled out of whatever fugue I was hiding in. I was folding laundry. A large towel was in my hands. Shirts in a neat pile next to my boxers. Whites separated from denim. I had heard laughter. My own. Takato sat on an empty dryer next to the one I had been standing in front of, gathering more dry towels. His face had been so bright, his eyes shining.  
  
"Dude," he repeated, "you really think I have a chance with Melissa?" He kicked his feet, but was careful not to hit the dryer.  
  
I felt the corners of my mouth tilt into an unfamiliar expression. A smile. The first I had offered anyone in years. "Of course!" What was that I had heard in my voice? A warmth, honesty, and vibrancy I hadn't felt for such a long time.  
  
Takato had looked at me and smiled.  
  
I wanted to kill him then. The first real thing I had felt strongly about in months. The first thing I had been certain about in *years.* I wanted Takato to die. And I had wanted to be the one to *help* him die. All because of that smile. That damn smile, so full of the promise of lies.  
  
My hands didn't let me. I had started to reach towards him, hands clenched into crude claws, but to my horror, I continued to fold the towel. Tuck, tuck, drape, drop. Another towel. Tuck, tuck, drape, drop. Towel. And again. My hands were buried in the wrong warmth. Why couldn't I reach towards the grinning idiot and rip at his throat, bury my hands in *that* warmth?  
  
My mouth had merely continued to drop inane comments about Takato's value as a possible mate for his precious Melissa. Tongue and teeth had wrapped around words I didn't mean and didn't want to say and forced them past my lips where they dropped like precious stones into Takato's ears. Why couldn't I... why couldn't I stop this?!  
  
'I'm sorry, but I can't let that happen.'  
  
Those were the first words that damnable voice had spoken to me. Directly, that is. Addressing me as a separate entity, that is. It had forced me into the darkness after that.  
  
That had been the first time, but it hadn't been the last. My grades went back up. My roommates opened up to me. I picked out a major in college and a rough idea of a future lay before me. Life was looking up and I had wanted nothing to do with it. I was a prisoner, held captive by that gentle tormenter, released only when I (we?) were far away from any people.  
  
'Let me out, let me go, give me back my life!'  
  
'It's alright. I won't let anyone hurt you. Including yourself.'  
  
By that little exchange, I took it as okay to hurt *other* people. So one night when the little voice was safely asleep in my head, I had snuck towards the kitchen. I picked out a nice, sharp knife. I tested the edge with my thumb. Giggled under my breath when it nicked me. Perfect. It'll go through his throat faster.  
  
Takato had slept on the couch that night. Passed out from playing video games after a successful date with Melissa. Might as well let him go out with a smile on his face, right? I can remember how beautiful he looked then. Dark brown bangs fanned across his brow and eyes. Legs and arms about the couch in a graceful sprawl. Head thrown back, throat glowing in the dull flicker of the tv. He was only beautiful because I was about to kill him.  
  
"NO!"  
  
My own voice, shrieking at me to stop.  
  
Takato eyes had snapped open and he had looked up to stare at me standing over him.  
  
"LET ME KILL HIM!"  
  
My own voice, shrieking at me to continue.  
  
Stupid boy didn't even move when I began to argue with the voice in my head. He had just sat there with that blissfully stupid look of shock on his face. If knowledge were dangerous, surely he had been the least harmful person on the planet.  
  
"Stop this, leave him alone!"  
  
"Let... me... kill... him!"  
  
"I can't! Stop!"  
  
"Get out of me! LET ME KILL HIM!"  
  
"NO!"  
  
"Ryou! What the hell are you doing, man?!"  
  
That was when the other two idiots I cohabitated with decided to wake up. They rushed over to me, pried the knife from my fingers, crushed me down to the floor. I snapped at them with my teeth and clawed at them with my nails. Someone yelped in pain. A hand pulled away quickly from my mouth. I think I left one of them with scars. I broke free of them and rushed out of the apartment, almost tumbling down the stairs.  
  
Darkness snapped and clawed at my mind. Gentle tormentor that the voice was, it did nothing to inflict pain upon me. It merely let me tear myself down. Down and down into darkness...  
  
It had been a really stupid thing to do in retrospect. Waiting to kill him. Shouldn't have stopped and gawked at his pretty throat. Should have killed him fast.  
  
I woke up in here, tied up in one of those damn jackets, and almost stupid from the medication. It was almost worth the look on their faces when I told them I had been admitted here by the voice in my head. Almost. I tried to escape the next morning. Bit one of the guards. Licked his blood off my lips. Grinned at him and ran out.  
  
I let them catch me. I let them catch me every time.  
  
I'm better now. Really. I've stopped with the pretense. Screw conforming to normality. I can *feel* things now. The rush of blood in my veins as I run laughing down the hallways, daring the guards to catch me *this* time, reminding them with the subtle taunt that I *let* them catch me in the end. The feeling of wind in my hair whenever I sit on the roof of the hospital, catching pigeons and killing them. The thrill of knowing that I'm not like the others.  
  
The voice tells me I should cooperate with the doctors, let them help me. I haven't been taking my medication lately. Of course its going to get louder. I don't care. I have more freedom here than I've ever  
  
"Ryou? Our group session is over for today. I'll see you tomorrow."  
  
I blink. Oh. Group. Present reality. Valentine and her little pet pharaoh.  
  
We all rise to our feet and are escorted back to our individual rooms. I sneak a look at the nurse following me. Tall woman, sturdy arms and legs, strong face. Would be luck to be called 'handsome.' Haven't played with *her* in a while. I stop in my tracks and turn around to grin at her. Her eyes narrow. She knows the game.  
  
"Hey, Armstrong." I pause a moment, narrow my eyes and allow my grin to grow. "Catch me."  
  
I take off running down the hallway, bare feet slapping against the floor. The spiky white hair I'm so proud of trails behind my head. I wonder if I look like a comet. Armstrong bellows and takes after me. I'll let her catch me.  
  
Eventually.  
  
Maybe.  
  
Isn't sanity fun? 


	4. The Reliable Guardian

"The Reliable Guardian"  
  
[Magic / Quickplay] Increase 1 monster's DEF by 700 points during the turn this card is activated.  
  
=====  
  
Cold, cold once again. My captors seem unable to understand the concept of basic warmth. I huddle in upon myself in a corner of the room. They use far too much white, a color I have come to associate with the spoiled sterility of a bone turned clean by the shedding of rotting flesh. There are couches I could sit on, a dirty yellow brought upon by age and smoke and urine.  
  
Not one of the finer establishments I've been in.  
  
It's visiting day. Time and people blur around me, but I can hear faithful loved talking to family members that are lucky to remember their names on a good day. Muffled grunts punctuated by a rush of words that somehow break past the labyrinth within their minds. Animated conversations with the coat rack for those with no guests.  
  
I sit alone. I want them to leave so I can return to the bitter sanctuary of my prison. Dark and tiny and confining, but warm in a familiar sort of hurt. So I'll sit here, huddled in the corner, alone in my mind and in my body.  
  
I'm waiting for someone.  
  
But I don't know if he'll return.  
  
My golden stranger.  
  
Nondescript brown eyes. Dirty blond hair. Rough, calloused hands. But my wandering mind performs alchemy and distills his image into gold. Amber irises revealing his soul like sunlight through a stained glass window. Tears of dawn spun into golden thread. Gentle touch that burned my fears into ashes.  
  
I've had much time to mull over this stranger. Perhaps too much. But he has become a sun in this midnight land of sterile light. He is the one I wait for.  
  
"Yuugi?"  
  
Hm? Ah, Dr. Solomon. "Tell me, Doctor," I say out loud, "why is a wiseman wondering amidst the mad?"  
  
He chuckles. "Good question. I asked myself that everyday while I was sitting couches with the lawyers, CEOs, and businessmen. That's why I work here now." So odd to hear a moment of levity from this stocky man. He is well suited to his chosen task of solving the puzzles of other people's minds. At times, however, he seems too close, treating his charges as though they were kin to be cherished, rather than scattered minds to be brought back to flock.  
  
The doctor's strange violet eyes flash again with the levity that seems so natural in his face but so very strange against his station. "You've got a visiter, Yuugi."  
  
"Hn?"  
  
"Over there." Solomon gestures across the sterile room to a figure standing distant near the doorway. "Technically he isn't allowed in this ward any more, but I thought a guest might do you good. You'll have to go to him."  
  
Clever, clever Solomon. You seek to jolt me from my apathy and shake me from the gray that has settled about my sight. Very well. I nod in his direction and set about in the general way he pointed. Sweat beads my forehead. So hard to breath properly. Damn you, Solomon! You knew! Gray ghosts swim in and out of focus. I weave, trying not to touch them, trying not to feel warm flesh where my eyes insist there are only the ashes of vision.  
  
I can hear them, smell them, touch them. But so very few people can register to my treacherous blood stained eyes. I cannot see them clearly, only a monochrome blur where living breath is exhaled. Solomon. Valentine. The tomb robber. Those few I can see clearly in the true spectrum. And him. I mustn't forget  
  
Wait!  
  
Gold rips across my peripheral vision and I spin around to stare dumbly into a familiar stranger's eyes.  
  
"Hi," he says with a sheepish grin, rubbing at the back of his head. "Just thought I'd come in and see how you're doing, but they wouldn't let me past the front desk. Good thing the doc heard me yelling, huh?"  
  
Bright, bright, so gloriously bright and vibrant. A red shirt with some arcane sports logo. Dark blue denim pants. Scuffed sneakers with a streak of black along each side. So vibrant, every thread and color and the excited flush painting his cheeks. He looks puzzled at my silence.  
  
I manage to shove two syllables past my startled lips. "Hello."  
  
"My name's Joey." He offers his hand. I grasp his fingers and palm, fingertips reveling in the feel of his skin. "So what should I call you?"  
  
"Some insist on calling me Yuugi."  
  
"That what you want to be called? The doc told me about the whole pharaoh bit. Or do you have a name you haven't told anyone else about?" There's a mischievous gleam from the teeth he's exposed by smiling.  
  
"I have no name."  
  
"So what did Yuugi call you?"  
  
A brief panic stabs through me. What did he call me? Was there some secret gift of a name he bestowed upon me that I have failed to remember? I have been called friend, partner, brother, by my fallen charge. But-- No. There was never any need for a name. Not between us.  
  
"There was no need for names between us. We--" Why does this hurt so much! I swallow a sob that regurgitates through my throat anyway. "Yuugi never had to--" I clutch at his red shirt and hide my face against his pale throat. "Yuugi--"  
  
Something inside of me! Some hideous, poisonous cancer! I want to howl and claw it out of my chest, this wretched truth that burns at my vision, red crimson vermilion. Our parents gone and I walking about in Yuugi's skin. Vision so vibrant with color,  
  
Yuugi so vibrant with life and new strength, fade like fade like fade like bleeding colors into the darkness of my night with no name no face of mine own lost into the sparse haiku of my mind spinning tale and meaning from so very few syllables and words  
  
whispered against the curved shell of my ear. soft murmurs, meaning lost, but soft intent so very clear. Gentle words that break through the tremors wracking my small body.  
  
Joey.  
  
"Joey?"  
  
Both of us are kneeling. His arms and my arms twined so densely about the other as to breed some new form of organic origami. I'm still shaking, but his tight embrace forces those shudders back within, thrumming about the core of me until my panic shatters. Joey's words gain form and substance and no longer flutter to the floor like slain butterflies.  
  
"It's alright, I'm sorry, shouldn't have asked, come on, it's alright, I'm here, please, look at me, please, it's alright..."  
  
"Joey?"  
  
He doesn't pull away, but I can feel the desperate tension melt from his frame. He wrests a hand free and brushes the bangs away from my face. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm here."  
  
"Please give me a name. I don't know who I am."  
  
"Dark. That's what your name is. It's not forever or anything, but that's where you are now. When you find yourself you'll be someone else and not Dark anymore. But that's who you are for now, 'kay?"  
  
"Dark." It should be a slap to my pride to have the very nature of my identity thrown in my face. Dark, shadow, twilight. My name. A single word to hinge my identity upon, to remake myself until I am whole again. Dark. "Thank you, Joey."  
  
He pulls away now, face mere inches from mine. What does he see in my face? Stranger? Madcap? Or does he see me as I see him? A precious salvation borne out of chaos? In my desperation for some sign of life in this prison, I know I have stretched his truth out of all possible proportions. He is as human as I am. But still.  
  
I want to get closer, spill myself into his eyes and into his mind until I'm not alone anymore. Let me wrap my naked soul with his flesh. Joey. Take me inside you. Please. I'm lost in my mind, wandering and exposed to the echoes of this body. Joey. His hands rub up and down my spine. Stroke the flesh to reach the soul? I nestle against him and try to fold myself into the womb of comfort that surrounds him.  
  
Turn my face to his, searching for something. Our mingled breath ushers a lethargic flow of heat across the surface of my skin. I press my mouth to his to drink in those breaths, least they dilute even in the short space between us. Joey drops his jaw in shock and I press deeper. Consume me, Joey, prove yourself the honorable cannibal.  
  
I couldn't save Yuugi.  
  
My only redemption is with Joey.  
  
Please.  
  
Joey.  
  
Consume me.  
  
His hand skitters across my jaw. But he does not pull away. Through some impossible fold and shift of our limbs, Joey presses me closer. His mouth moves against mine and his tongue invades my mouth. So wet and hot and this small body of mine burns with the heat of him. Joey. Help me out of this twilight and shadow. Help me find my true name.  
  
Joey. 


	5. Trap Master

"Trap Master"  
  
[Warrior / Effect] FLIP: Destroys 1 Trap Card on the field. If this cards's target is face-down, flip it face-up. If the card is a Trap Card, it is destroyed. If not, it is returned to it's face-down position. The flipped cared is not activated.  
  
=====  
  
Shit.  
  
Shit, shit, shit.  
  
Double shit times three.  
  
He didn't have a name, so I gave him one. That's cool.  
  
But weird. Like a lot of other stuff he does.  
  
But with Dark, a lot of stuff's weird. I've watched him a couple times when I come to visit. Just stand in the doorway until someone points out where he's hiding. He's good at that. Even with the wild hair. You'd think someone would notice a short kid with multicolored pineapple shaped hair. But they don't seem to notice Dark. Dark'll sit under a table or in a corner, sometimes he'll even hide in supply closets. Most of the time, though, he's huddled in a ball in his room.  
  
Why do these freaks think that's normal? Haven't they seen him sometimes? When he's awake? You can't tell me someone hasn't noticed. He's really smart, but in a weird sort of way. (Weird, of course, being the Dark way of life) Give him a game, any game, and just let him watch a couple rounds. In those few rounds he can figure out the basic rules, basic strategies, and give you a few pointers you'd never even thought of.  
  
Like when Grim taught him chess.  
  
Don't know what Grim's real name is. Doesn't matter. The guy's a chess master, a for real chess master, not just someone really good at it. Me and Dark watched him play a few rounds with his niece in the children's ward. Kid was good, but not as good as her uncle. Dark started to point out a few moves for her. She won the game. And the next one with Dark's help. Grim told Dark to cut the shit and sit down and play directly.  
  
So he did.  
  
And Grim lost every freaking game they played. Grim's happy in a real pissy sort of way to have a partner to play with.  
  
That's the way Dark's smart. In a game sort of way. Unexpected strategies, risks that always pay off, a weird combo of sharp logic and fluid intuition. But he's also an idiot. His idea of escape is running like a bat out of hell straight for the door. No wonder they catch him every time. You'd think he'd learn how to say what they wanted to hear so he could get out. But he never does.  
  
Like today. Here I am, at the freaking desk again, getting frisked for weapons. Like I'd need to carry anything. Guess they're still a bit miffed about that little incident in the hallway first time I met Dark. Understandable, I guess. Heh. I did break a couple of fingers on that one guy. Still, I gotta play it nice. Without the doc's permission, I wouldn't even be allowed in this freaking wing of the building. But they're not gonna let me go anywhere until Dark's out of his therapy session and in the big visitation room.  
  
Yippee.  
  
I just hope it isn't with that bitch Valentine. Don't get me wrong, the woman is drop dead gorgeous with legs up to freaking here. And she really cares about her patients. But she's still a tricky bitch. I've seen her talking with a couple of the people here. Conversation will be going along nice and ducky and then Valentine'll try to trip 'em up. I've seen her try to do that with Dark, poking at the holes and tears in his already thin version of reality.  
  
But to him it's a game. And like I said, he's game smart. So Valentine'll try and try, and he'll just keep jumping and avoiding her little verbal tricks. It's cool to watch. He'll talk and she'll talk, she'll set the little trap, he just blows right past it, she'll set another, he'll get past that one, another, another, 'til she gets pissed and huffs off. Dark's good at stuff like that.  
  
I'm bored. I've read the stupid magazines. Why don't they change these things? Sure, half the people here are vegetables and the other half speaks Klingon, but who doesn't like looking at new pictures every now and then?  
  
I rock and forth in my seat, twiddle my thumbs, stare up at the ceiling. Why am I doing this? Serenity'll be out of the hospital in a few weeks and I won't have any excuse to ride for forty-five minutes on that nasty bus uptown. They'll finish their tests, she'll get her operation, stay a few days, and then go home. She won't need the Braille books I've looked all over for. She won't need her big brother.  
  
She might wanna come back... Yeah! She's all over the place anyway, reading her books to little kids, visiting some of the old patients that have to live here, even passing around mom's candy when she can bug me into wheeling her around. Serenity might as well volunteer officially when she's out. I ride with her then, make sure she gets here safe, and then I can  
  
I can what?  
  
Sit in the doorway of the loony ward until my crazy little friend can come out to play?  
  
Shit, shit, shit.  
  
That's what I keep telling myself. I don't think the little mantra's helping any. Nothing's helping this make any sense! He's off his rocker, no denying that. Nobody normal can stare at you with that sort of crazy intensity and then spend the rest of the day staring at the inside of his skull. And nobody normal latches onto your mouth like they'd like to crawl inside your gut.  
  
It's that last one that's still bugging the hell out of me.  
  
It wasn't a normal kiss. Wasn't affectionate or lusting or even desperate. It was like... like... I don't know. I really don't. Closest I can come is that it was like he was tasting me. He was scared and spazzing out and needed someone else inside his head with him. Where Yuugi used to be. And I was the closest one. He just didn't want to be alone inside his head anymore.  
  
I believe him about Yuugi. There's no real reason, I just do. Not so sure about the ancient pharaoh shtick, but I believe him about Yuugi being there with him in the background. One day Yuugi's gone and he's left in there alone.  
  
Dark still hasn't told me what happened to Yuugi.  
  
I don't think *he* knows yet.  
  
Geez, when are they gonna let him out already?  
  
Wait, there he is. Shit. And guess who's with him? Valentine. She's got this nasty triumphant look on her face. She pats Dark on the head like a freaking puppy or something and points him in my direction. The bitch watches him stumble his way across the room, not offering to help or anything when he trips over his feet and lands on his knees.  
  
Why isn't he moving?  
  
Come on, Dark, I'm over here.  
  
Dark?  
  
"Dark?" I call out.  
  
"His name is Yuugi!" Valentine snaps from across the room.  
  
"Come on, get up! I'm over here!"  
  
He still isn't moving. Dark's on his hands and his knees, eyes wide enough I can see the white of them from here.  
  
"Dark!"  
  
I'm rushing over to him, brushing past the desk nurse that barks at me to stay put. Damn it, let go of me! I don't give a fuck if I'm not allowed in here, he needs me!  
  
"Dark!" I reach him and drop to my knees beside him. Grab his shoulders. Shake. Once. Twice. Yell at him. "Dark!"  
  
Still not moving.  
  
"Mr. Wheeler, that's quite enough!" Valentine yells. "Let go of him!"  
  
"Go screw yourself, bitch!" I spit. "What'd you do to him?" Forget her. Not important. "Dark!"  
  
Why isn't he talking to me?  
  
I pull him into my lap. His lips are moving fast, like he's speaking silent gibberish. He keeps gasping and panting. I rest my head on his and start rocking him, one hand rubbing his back a little. "Come on," whispering now, "it's alright. Calm down. I gotcha. Just shut up and listen, okay? I'm here. Not going anywhere. Just chill out."  
  
"Joseph?" The doc just got here. "Joseph, let go of him, let us help him." He tugs at Dark's shoulder.  
  
"No!" I look up just long enough to glare daggers at Valentine. "That bitch did something to him! She caused this!"  
  
"Joseph." Solomon always means business when he uses that tone of voice. "We need to sedate him and get him to his room. His behavior this entire afternoon hinted that something like this might happen. We thought that if he saw you, he might calm down. It's nothing that I or Dr. Valentine did. It's part of his condition. Now let go of Yuugi."  
  
Can't let go. Can't. I promised him. Never came out and said it, but I promised him I'd look after him. And that means not letting go of him. Not for the doctors. Not even for Yuugi, I guess.  
  
"Joey?"  
  
"Dark?" God his voice is so small and weak. "S'okay, I'm here."  
  
He doesn't say anything but just melts against me. His arms wrap around my neck and I can feel his fingers catch the little hairs back there when he knots his hands together. But he's breathing steady now.  
  
I stare at Valentine and the doc. "He's fine. I got here in time, so crisis averted. Now just leave him alone."  
  
Valentine's eyes look like they're gonna jump out of the sockets and strangle me. "You little son of a--" the doc grabs her arm, but she shrugs him off, "Who are you to tell me how to treat my patients? Think about this Wheeler, he's getting dependent on you. What's going to happen to him when you get tired of visiting the mental ward? When he isn't interesting any more and you get bored?" It's almost worse than getting hit, the way she's shrieking at me like a harpy. She cares about Dark. Nice to know.  
  
But she's killing him. Without even knowing.  
  
This time the doc manages to drag Valentine off to the side for a moment, leaving me and Dark with the glaring desk nurse. The doc shoos him off too. Can't hear what the doc and Valentine are talking about and don't really care. Dark's more important.  
  
"You okay now?"  
  
Dark shudders. "Yes. I think so. Joey--"  
  
"I'm not leaving." I hug him. "Don't worry."  
  
"Thank you."  
  
I can hear the doc's solid footsteps. "I need to talk with you a moment, Joseph. Dr. Valentine is going to administer a mild sedative to Yuugi. Not enough to knock him out, just enough to help him calm down. You can continue your visit in a few moments." I look up at the doc, his voice low and sincere and an earnest smile right between his mustache and neatly trimmed beard. "Come on."  
  
I look back down at Dark. His lips are thinned. He nods. He's not happy with the idea, but what the hell. He gets up and goes off with a very pissed off looking Valentine. I'm on my feet and going with the doc.  
  
The doc doesn't say a thing as we walk down a few random hallways. The place is nice, can't say that it isn't. But carpet, soothing colors, flowers, and pictures of flowers don't change the fact that the place is still a prison. Even if it's a prison to help people that can't help being sick in their minds.  
  
He walks through a random door and gestures for me to sit. It's a nice plush chair facing a heavy looking desk. I think we're in his office. The walls are lined with bookshelves that are littered with heavy volumes and random little puzzle games. I think Dark could solve all of them. I know he could.  
  
"Joseph."  
  
I hate it when he calls me that.  
  
"I can't continue to excuse your behavior here. Even if you are helping Yuugi, I just can't," he sighs. "And after that little incident, I don't think the others will even allow you even in the same wing as the ward, let alone in the main doorway."  
  
What? What? My knuckles pop. I look down and see that I'm clutching the arms of the chair. "What?"  
  
"To be honest... I don't know how much longer your visits would have been effective anyway."  
  
"What are you talking about?" I cry.  
  
"He's getting worse. Yuugi's been crawling deeper and deeper into himself for the longest time. He has no sense of time or place, and his catatonic states are getting longer and deeper. He used to talk to more people, to myself or Dr. Valentine, occasionally with Bakura, a patient with a similar mental background. Yuugi would talk in group therapy at times."  
  
"He talks to me..."  
  
"As of lately, only you."  
  
"But--"  
  
Dr. Solomon stands up and looks at me. Really looks at me, like he's trying to decide how much I'm worth telling. It's starting to piss me off.  
  
"Do you know why he's here? His father owned a game shop. His mother was a teacher at the local high school. They saved enough money to accompany a professor friend of their's on a dig in Egypt. There was an accident during one of the excavations. Yuugi saw his parents die and remained with the bodies for several hours before they found him. He couldn't have been more than ten.  
  
"He was sent back to America immediately to stay with his grandfather. Yuugi's grandfather noticed that his grandson was acting strangely. Talking to himself. Drastic mood swings. Odd moments when he'd stare out into space and laugh at nothing. Wandering off in the middle of the afternoon and returning in the middle of the night. Worst of all was that damned puzzle."  
  
"What puzzle?" I ask. This is freaky. The doc never talks this much to me.  
  
He glares down at me, his eyes burning. "Don't. Interrupt. Me."  
  
"Yessir."  
  
"Worst of all was that damned puzzle," the doc continued. "Yuugi's father had given it to him in Egypt. A tacky golden puzzle in the shape of an upside down pyramid. I'm surprised there wasn't a 'Made in Taiwan' stamp on it somewhere. But Yuugi loved it. Wore it everywhere when he came back without his parents. Became hysterical when it was lost. Got into more than one fight when someone threatened to take it away. He literally guarded with his life.  
  
"But his grandfather though, 'It's understandable, he's been through so much.'  
  
"Then one day, three years later, he came back to find Yuugi sitting in a corner. The puzzle was shattered and it's pieces scattered around him. Yuugi's shirt was covered with blood, none of it his own. He was rocking back and forth, muttering under his breath. Not a word of it was english.  
  
"Yuugi didn't recognize his grandfather or anyone else. He spent days staring at everything but looking at nothing. Finally, his grandfather admitted there was nothing he could do. He brought Yuugi to a hospital and did his best. But it wasn't enough."  
  
Solomon stares at me. His eyes are no longer blazing and he seems to have aged twenty years while talking. "But I love my grandson very much."  
  
"Grandkid?" I blurt. "But..." It fits. Both of them are short, both with that odd spiky hair. And both of them love puzzles, from the looks of the knickknacks in the doc's office.  
  
"Several generous donations over the past few years have eased the collective conscience of my colleagues enough to allow me to work directly with Yuugi at times. And I've earned enough seniority to call them off of a certain young idiot that seems determined to rough house with the orderlies."  
  
"He could still get better."  
  
Solomon tilts his head and smiles at me. It's sad, hurting smile. An old hurt that's been there a while. Melancholy, I think's the word. "And pigs could use start using those frequent flyer miles they've been accumulating all these years."  
  
Shatter, crinkle, crack. Don't mind me, I'm just picking up the pieces of my heart. Dark can't be getting worse. I haven't known him that long, but... But I care about him. I want him to get better and get out. Then I can find out what his favorite flavor of ice cream is. Then he can come over to my house and spend the night or something. Then we can go to school together and I could help him make more friends.  
  
Dark's too fierce, too bright to just fade away! It isn't right, it isn't fair! It just... I don't know when I got up, but I'm beating against the door, fists throbbing in pain. Isn't fair, isn't fair, isn't fair, isn't  
  
"I know it isn't fair, Joseph. And I thank you for the companionship you've given him over the past few weeks. But he won't be with us much longer."  
  
"You make it sound like he's dying, you bastard!" I want to hit him for sounding so fucking calm. Hit the door, hit the door, again and again.  
  
"In a way, he is." Delivered with all the warmth of a newspaper obituary.  
  
"Dark's dying because of this place! Because Yuugi's gone and he thinks he's all alone. He isn't! If you put him here, then take him out! Take him home. At least let him fade or whatever in peace." I want to cry, but I let out a wet, honking laugh inspite of trying not to. And the tears roll down my cheeks.  
  
"I can't. There's no possible way I can take care of him by myself." He just let's the whole 'Dark' thing slide right by. Guess he knows about that too.  
  
"Then let me."  
  
Solomon takes my elbow and pulls me far enough from the door to open it. He doesn't answer me and we're walking down the hallway again. I swipe at my nose, determined not to let Dark see me crying. We're out in the visitation room again. Valentine's still looking pissed and she's holding Dark up by an arm.  
  
He doesn't look that good.  
  
But when does he ever in this place?  
  
"Go take a walk around the hospital, Joseph. Take Yuugi to see your sister. Visit the garden," Solomon says in a dull voice. "I'll send one of the orderlies with you in case something should happen." Valentine opens her mouth to protest, but the doc cuts her off with a glare. "Not now, Dr. Valentine. We'll talk later."  
  
The doc goes off for a bit and returns with a familiar solid, muscular woman. Valentine and I aren't given enough time to chitchat. Yippee.  
  
"You know Nurse Armstrong. She'll watch you around the hospital. You've got an hour, Joseph. Enjoy it, because this is likely the last visit."  
  
Armstrong looks a bit miffed to be playing babysitter to a couple of kids, but she nods and says to Solomon, "Only for you, old goat. Everybody else can go screw themselves." She takes Dark by the hand and tugs him towards the door. He doesn't budge. She smiles sweetly and says, "Come on, honey."  
  
"Let me." I take Dark's free hand. He squeezes it briefly. Armstrong shrugs and walks towards the door. We follow like a couple of obedient puppies on strings.  
  
"Where to?"  
  
Like I give a shit? I just want Dark to myself for a little bit, to see if he's alright. You people want to help but all you're doing is killing him.  
  
I can't let you do that. I just can't.  
  
"Joe? Where do you two want to go?" Armstrong asks again.  
  
"Um, could we go see Serenity?"  
  
"Sure. Children's ward today, right? I think that's where she goes on Tuesdays."  
  
"Yeah. To read to the kids."  
  
More hallways. More corners. At least this time Dark's with me. I look down at him and smile, squeezing his hand again. 'Don't worry,' I mouth. He blinks at me, bleary understanding struggling to shine through his now dim eyes.  
  
Mild sedative my ass. Valentine doped him to the gills.  
  
But that should make it easier to  
  
To what?  
  
Guess I'll figure out when my brain decides to inform me what it's up to.  
  
Armstrong stops when we finally reach the children's ward. It's brighter than the mental ward, pictures of animals and clowns on the walls instead of flowers, primary colors instead of pastels. She takes us to one of the small waiting rooms filled with toys. An old guy, probably someone's dad, is slumped unconscious in a chair, surrounded by a couple of duffle bags. Looks like this poor guy is in it for the long haul. I hope his kid's okay.  
  
"Look kids," she whispers quietly, "I'm long overdue for a smoke break. You two just stay put for a few seconds and we'll go look for Serenity, okay?"  
  
What else can I do but nod? She's off and we're waiting in the waiting room with the sleeping dad. Dark shuffles listlessly beside me. "You okay?" He nods and tries to burrow his head against my chest. I pull him towards a chair, but he squirms and I wind up sitting with him on my lap.  
  
He's only fifteen. Two years younger than me.  
  
Damn them. All of them. Even his granddad.  
  
Dark doesn't deserve this. None of it.  
  
He deserves to be outside playing with other kids his age. I can picture it so easily. Wrapped up in a jacket, a wine colored scarf wound around his neck. He'd be the type to spend all day raking the yard and then go jump in the piles. I'd show him the pond in the park near my house, and we could skip stones. I'd point out the brightest trees, and we'd make it a game to see who could find the reddest leaf. Or we could just walk around aimlessly.  
  
Brain decides to speak up.  
  
So go for the fucking walk already. Just take him and go. Get him out. Armstrong's not here right now. Just take Dark's hand, walk like you know where you're going, and get the hell out.  
  
And it makes a terrible kind of sense.  
  
Get Dark out.  
  
I'm on my feet and digging through the duffle bags at the feet of the sleeping dad before I'm aware that I'm moving. Move fast, move quiet, Brain reminds me. Standard stuff, books, fresh socks and underwear, a stuffed toy. Second bag. Bingo! A big worn sweater that'll probably sag down to Dark's knees, but what the hell? A pair of loafers. What kind of kid wears loafers around the house? Who cares.  
  
I grab the sweater and a couple of tshirts. Another bag gives up a pair of pants. This and a pair of socks and underwear. I take the stolen goods over to Dark and that pathetic excuse of a shirt is off him. Standard hospital issue. Thin and worn and not nearly enough to keep properly warm.  
  
"Joey?" Dark looks up at me with puzzled eyes.  
  
"Never mind. Put this on." I yank the two tshirts over his head one after the other and pull the sweater on after them. The underwear and pants are shoved at him. "Come on, Dark. You know how this goes. Underwear and pants."  
  
I turn around and cast a nervous look at the sleeping dad. Still hasn't moved. Armstrong still isn't back. Either bit of good luck could break at any minute. I'm scared, I'm scared, this is gonna get me in so much trouble, but I can't do anything *but* this. This is all I can do. I have to get Dark out of here and I have to keep him safe.  
  
Someone taps me on the shoulder and I want to whirl around and scream. Cancel the scream but go ahead with the whirl. Dark. He tilts his head and blinks at me with trusting wine colored eyes. Thanks to Valentine, he isn't really coherent enough to know what's going on. But as Brain mentioned earlier, that's probably a good thing. But he was coherent enough to put on the socks and loafers, I notice.  
  
Great. Now he looks like a scruffy, sleepy kid on his way home from a long visit. But the hair? I dig around in my jacket and fish out the wool cap I wore over here. I jam it over the proud spikes, making him lose at least four inches of height. Better. The cap and the sweater clash terribly, but what's a little fashion mishap here and there?  
  
I take Dark's hand and lead him to the door. Sleeping dad sleeps. I peek out the doorway. No Armstrong. Lady Luck still loves me. I guide Dark down the hallway. I duck my head and pray that no one recognizes us. We're past the hall nurse standing guard at the entryway to the children's ward. Still engrossed in his soaps blatting on a tv visible in another waiting room.  
  
Want to run. Solomon's gonna hunt us down, kill me, and go back to killing Dark with that loving kindness. The hairs on the back of my neck prickle and I'm clutching Dark's hand so tight I'm surprised he doesn't whimper. But he squeezes back just as hard. Want so much to run.  
  
Another hallway. Elevator. Hallway. Elevator. Parking garage. Stairs. This place is a fucking maze.  
  
Street.  
  
Building's rear tall above us and we dash madly across the busy intersection. Never gonna let go Dark, don't worry. I promise. We stop at a bus station. I've got enough on me and enough in my tiny bank account to buy two tickets. I don't notice where, just that we're able to get on a bus.  
  
Dark's still holding my hand.  
  
Don't know where we're going. Don't know what we'll do when we get there. Don't even know if I can keep Dark alive out here. None of his medicine. Unfamiliar environment. But he's free.  
  
"Where are we going, Joey?" he asks. He sounds stronger this time.  
  
"Where do you wanna go?"  
  
"Egypt. To find my past. And my name."  
  
I throw my head back and laugh. Why not? Why not Egypt? It's perfect! I hug Dark and press a kiss to his jaw. He looks more startled at my laughter, but he returns a hesitant kiss to my cheek. Some ass next to us mutters, "Fags," under his breath. I turn and cheerfully inform him how he can go fuck himself.  
  
Egypt.  
  
Why not?  
  
It's as good a star as any to reach for. 


	6. Light of Intervention

"Light Of Intervention"  
  
[ Trap / Continuous ] Monster cards cannot be played face-down. Monsters Set in Defense Position are played face-up on the field and are considered summoned.  
  
=====  
  
World blurring past in curious gray noncolor. Joey's hand clasped tightly around my own. Weight of heavy, itchy clothes. Scratch idly at the cap perched precariously on my head.  
  
Why... why is it so hard to think properly?  
  
Valentine and her strange vial of poison. Heart so full of battered mercy. Strength and knowledge in that one, but no wisdom. Her aid only touches maladies of the brain. Not of the mind. It fades, but so slowly.  
  
Where are we?  
  
A dim mental echo of rushing cars and the near unfamiliar rumble of an engine beneath my feet. Rough canvas seats smelling oddly like the couches of the visiting room, stained with the scents of smoke and age. A screaming child. Blaring rock music so cultivated with modern apathy but still resonating with primal rhythms.  
  
"Joey?"  
  
"Yeah?" his voice is full of fear, but apprehension and worry weight his single word to a monotone.  
  
"Perhaps we should get off now."  
  
He furrows his brow and glances down at his watch. Joey's eyebrows dart towards his hairline and a startled yelp drops from his mouth. "It can't be this late!" He leans over me, pushing me back into the seat, and looks out the window. We're approaching that lovely false night of late autumn. The sky grows dark and heavy. "Fuck." Joey slumps back into his seat and drags a hand through his hair. "What are we gonna do?"  
  
The bus lurches to a halt. Clothes rustle and people call out their goodbyes. Some groan as they rise to their feet and others struggle with crinkling bags of paper. Joey gets up and tugs me after him. Heavy bodies press tightly ahead and behind us. We step to the rough asphalt outside, the scent of car exhaust rising hot around us for a moment before getting tugged away by the wind. This wind is so cold it burns and I have to resist the brief urge to pinch my nose.  
  
The bus pulls away. We're left standing alone amidst the crush of bodies. Skin on skin, but no one's really touching anyone. Except for Joey's hand clutching mine. He's still standing there. Shifting from foot to foot. Waiting as though the heavens will part and show him the way.  
  
"This way."  
  
We walk down the street. The world rushes past and about and above us. Loud and pressing and insisting so very harshly for my attention. Where are we going? I don't think he knows. We pass different buildings, stores selling books, lots selling cars, offices set facing the street.  
  
"We need a place to calm down. I think there's a shelter nearby that'll take us in for the night if we get there in time to snag a couple beds. Got a buddy that owes me a favor, he might take us in for a few days, but that's halfway across town, so no good for tonight. What about food? Don't know about you, but I haven't eaten yet. The shel"  
  
Oh god.  
  
For the love of light, what is this!  
  
Something shattering into my mind and tearing darkness across my vision. Quicksilver band of cold that tightens around my throat and my wrists. What is this... Slow spread of sudden feeling through my veins.  
  
I can feel it. A blessed dichotomy of flesh and spirit.  
  
Khemet. Standing at the edge of the Nile. Dark sky and dark earth meeting in the lover's embrace of night. A hot, dry wind carrying with it the scent of the desert, blending and merging with the shimmering moist air rising off the river. Green stalks of papyrus bowing and whispering in that wind.  
  
Birds cry out in the stillness. They flee like a startled school of leaves, wings thrumming through the air. The hum of the air current directs the flock and weaves them into a passing anarchy of willful chaos. It is a dance they sing with their movements.  
  
That song, lyrics of motion and wing, sway my heart away from dark apathy. Hawks dance for me the song of some unknown emotion. Such solitary creatures, but here they stain the sky with their golden wings by the score and the thousand. Golden of the sun and of Ra, a thousand thousand eyes black as the womb of the earth, birthing the life of her harvest.  
  
Glory in that song of black and gold! Wings and wind and eyes that dance the song of some ineffable thought and presence, something I thought torn from me. What is it? What can it be but  
  
Home. But something  
  
"Dark!"  
  
is missing. The glorious golden fury above me is swallowed in a sound that trembles like a rain of crimson. A word even yet fading that moves me to weep. Heaven and earth are torn from their lover's embrace by a net of silent echoes. The golden dance of the hawks turns into a deafening crescendo of defiance and fear. The silence of their voices is shattered by a thousand shrieking cries and they flee, leaving behind only this unnatural silence.  
  
A single feather drifts lazily down before me. It, like myself, is all that remains against that fading word. I reach to pick it up, some small measure of the glory to hold against this atrocity of silence.  
  
"Such a tiny talisman, is it not?"  
  
"What are you?" the words escape my lips before my mind could give proper form to them.  
  
"You show wisdom, Lord. Asking my name is akin to begging the moon for her milk. It cannot be offered because it does not exist," the voice continues with a hint of amused respect.  
  
I tremble. This is madness, and disturbing, even if it is my own madness. "If I show wisdom, then I ask *you* to show yourself."  
  
"Very well, Lord."  
  
The terrible crimson echoes dissolve into silence, chased by ribbons of darkness. Existence comes crashing down only to the noisy sound of my quivering breath. Darkness. So sudden and complete that my sight must have halted in the midst of a blink. Not even the suggestion of light.  
  
"My Lord, my God-King, you must give light back to the world. Grant your people dawn."  
  
Dawn.  
  
In this limbo, devoid of even chaos? There is only the reflection of nothing reflecting nothing, only the sound of my breath and the beating of my heart and the mad stranger's voice. This darkness. Bland and total. My eyelids reversed and I stare into the emptiness of my mind without closing my eyes.  
  
Dawn.  
  
Something inside of me knows what to do. Open the third eye. Bare the sign of the gods and *will* it into existence. I close my eyes (not that it matters in this darkness) and clutch at the memory of the golden dance of hawks. In the distance of my mind I can hear the sound of wings beating against the breast of the sky.  
  
Light spills across the land, burning and shattering away the inky black that clings defiantly. The tumultus scream of a hawk rips across the newborn sky. Life returns in a sudden agonizing gasp of laughter. The pain and joy of it are inseparable. New breath sears my lungs and I am tempted to weep as a newborn would. Joy and shock and pain.  
  
This first breath of this newborn world of old is followed by the stranger's laughter. "Well done, Lord! Truly, well done. One of your finer sunrises, I must say." He smiles at me, and I can see in his pale face a flicker of somber reverence.  
  
It is more than his face that flickers through attitudes. His whole form follows. At first he carries with him the lanky indolence of a court jester, violet robes and flashing blue eyes. It is then that he appears in a fold of light to walk with the solid assurance of age and broad shoulders, browned in the sun as a child of Khemet.  
  
He tilts his head and looks at me quizzically. "Lord?"  
  
"You keep calling me that," I reply softly. "Why?"  
  
The stranger laughs again, the sound flat and hollow despite the vast space of river and shore around us. "A game is it, my Lord and God-King? Very well. Let us introduce ourselves for this game. I am your black magician, dark spellcaster, your shadow sorcerer. But I am also Your teacher, adviser, Your counsel."   
  
Frustration claws at my eyes with burning claws. I will not weep in front of this madman. "Who are you?" I cry. "Stop speaking in riddles. Who are you? And who am I?" It is this last question that weighs heavy on my chest. Who better to answer than a stranger appearing from a sacred dream?  
  
"I am your jester and wiseman, my Lord," he replies with a solemn smirk. He taps his chin and the infuriating smile drops for a moment. "But who are you? Truly, a vexing question to be laid upon me. Would you not prefer to ask the moon for her milk, as I jested earlier?" He tilts his head. "No then?"  
  
"Who am I?"  
  
"One has named you Dark. Others call you son, one called you friend and brother. Others still have named you Yuugi. But you have also answered to Pharaoh, to Lord. You have answered to the secret name of Ra spoken to you only upon the moment of your birth."  
  
"Answer my question!" Desperation wells within like a boil soon to burst. I feel a sudden hatred for this smiling, mocking man. I can feel my voice sliding upwards to a shriek. "If I am your Lord and God-King, than answer me! What is my name!"  
  
He does nothing but stare for a few moments. This jester and wiseman seems to shrink in upon himself. "I cannot answer," he replies in the tone of a playful child struck down by a cruel adult. "I am sorry, Lord, truly. But what you ask is beyond my ability. It is not the place of those such as I to give name to one such as you."  
  
My vision clouds and hot liquid like colorless blood traces a path down my cheek. Perhaps I'll weep in front of this stranger after all. I want to crumple to my knees and wail my sorrows to the merciless blue sky and dark earth before me. Neither would answer. But there is something in the look of that stranger that will not allow me the blessing of loosing control. I remain on feet, not out of any inner strength, but of the shame that pieces me from that gaze.  
  
The stranger bows to his knees and hides his face in the sand at my feet. "I am sorry, Lord. I cry your forgiveness."  
  
"Get up. Please." The words claw themselves from my throat and hang awkward in the air.  
  
He rises to his feet with an eerie, boneless grace. The mocking, reverent smile returns to his face. "I am able to tell you this my God-King. There will come a time when you must stand before Osiris and the Keeper of Memory. You must offer not only your heart for judgement, but the feather of your fate. You stand outside of Maat and destiny.  
  
"There are two feathers you may offer to weigh against your heart, Lord. One is the golden feather you hold in your hand. The other feather you have yet to find. But when it is found and you stand before the gods, you must choose which you will lay at their feet for your judgement." He stops suddenly, furrowing his brow and cocking his head to the side like a curious hound. "Do you hear something?"  
  
"What?"  
  
"Yes. I believe I hear something, Lord."  
  
"What are you talking about?"  
  
"Something here that isn't here, something that should be." He smiles again and it is a slow, satisfied smile. "My God-King, could it perhaps be your companion?" The stranger reaches for me. His touch is burning and cold, like liquid shock and solid light. A single tapering finger traces the shape of an eye upon my forehead.  
  
His voice drops to a low murmur. "Yes. Your companion. Golden and brave. He rescued you, didn't he, my Master, my Lord?" He steps closer and I can feel a welcome chill radiating from this strange man. A chill like snow and ice. He wraps his arms around me and draws me into his embrace. I want so very much to sleep. "But you cannot yet. Not until you've shown this to him, shown your companion the glory of your kingdom, my Lord."  
  
Yes. My kingdom. He would look so lovely here. The pallor of his skin bronzed by the kiss of the sun. I want to see him dressed in the proper garb of my people, his form anointed with sacred oils. He could banish this chill settling around me. But he  
  
"DARK!"  
  
isn't here.  
  
"Wake up!"  
  
No. I must complete this vision. I want him here with me. I want  
  
"Please!  
  
I want  
  
"Dark!"  
  
him.  
  
I want  
  
"PLEASE!"  
  
Joey. My beloved. So vital in his dead gray world. So golden. Like the feather clutched so tightly in my hand. Please. Let him come to me. I cannot bear that dead world again, but I cannot bear this one without him.  
  
"Then go to him, Lord." The stranger pulls back far enough that I can see his face, first pale and blue-eyed, then bronzed and dark-eyed. He flickers like a benign Janus. All begins to fade but I can feel his arms bearing my weight. He leans down to whisper, "My name is Mahaado."  
  
And the world descends into night.  
  
"Wake up, damn it!"  
  
I return. A stinging pain jars my head. Dead gray sounds filter through and I open my eyes to a dead gray world. Only Joey remains golden. He shakes me again and again, my teeth clacking together before I clench my mouth shut.  
  
"St-stop!" I manage to sputter. "Joey!"  
  
He crushes me against his chest and I hear the dim steps of people walking around us. It hurts. I'm pressed so tightly to him that the rough denim of his jacket cuts into my cheek. His hands skitter up and down my back as though checking a tattered hide for holes.  
  
"What am I going to do with you, Dark?" Joey asks with mournful panic. "I can't take care of you. You just passed out on the fucking street for god's sake!" He pushes me away just far enough that we can see one another face to face. Panic stirs in amber depths and frustrated tears swim in the corners of his eyes. "But I gotta--"  
  
"I trust you Joey." He winces as though struck. "Don't." I reach up and cup his face in my palms. "Whatever comes, it is enough that I'm here with you now."  
  
"I gotta take care of you," Joey replies. "I have to."  
  
I struggle from his arms and get to my feet. I burrow against his side when he stands next to me. "I know, Joey. And thank you."  
  
He looks down at me with an unreadable expression on his face. Don't worry Joey. I will learn the language of your body and your moods. He plucks at my hair and pulls back a golden feather. "Where'd you get this?"  
  
A laugh bubbles up from some unknown depths within me. It feels good. "From a friend," I say and tuck the feather into my pocket. 


End file.
